Feels Like Dying Over Here
by Kaara
Summary: Ichigo didn't know that dying could be so painful. Especially when one was already dead in the first place. A wedding proposal, a meeting with Byakuya and his life was turned upside down. IchiRuki. OneShot.


**Title:** Feels Like Dying Over Here.  
**By:** Kaara  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach. Kubo Tite does, and some other people that I don't know.  
**Rating:** PG15, I think.  
**Author's Note:** This fic had been left festering inside my laptop from last year and somehow, I've finally managed to get the inspiration to finish it. It's been quite a while since I last wrote any het fanfic - ages since my last IchiRuki piece - and I think I've gotten rusty at best. The end is a bit rushed though, because I honestly can't think of another way to conclude the story. As always, feedbacks are so much love and keep me alive and churning out weird things♥

**feels like dying over here**

1.

If there was something good about being dead, it's the fact that you couldn't be any _deader_ than dead. At least, that's what Ichigo thought, because right at that moment, he felt like dying. Again.

It was decidedly unpleasant.

Especially with the way Renji was eyeing him. Like the redhead _pitied_ him or something.

Shit.

"What d'you mean…" Ichigo had to stop and check if a frog had died in his throat, because his voice just turned all wobbly and croaky and so unlike his usual macho self. The 'man-I-pity-you-and-all-but-I-ain't-gonna-hug-you-if-you-cry' look he kept getting from Renji was definitely not helping with the situation. "What do you mean that someone proposed to… to…"

Definitely felt like dying. Shit.

"Rukia?" the ever-helpful vice captain of the Sixth Division nodded, and Ichigo noticed that Renji's knuckles were white around the cup of sake. At least he wasn't the only one that felt like dropping dead around there. "Yeah… yeah."

Inhale. Exhale. Grit teeth. "Who?"

"Dunno. Some noble family related to the Kuchiki," muttered Renji through a mouthful of sake. Even his spiked ponytail looked droopy. "Captain told me this evening, that bastard."

"But… it's just a proposal, right?" Ichigo brightened up, and straightened his spine. Zangetsu felt heavy against his back. He grinned at Renji and punched the redhead's shoulder. "Not like she's gonna accept it or anything. Rukia's smarter than that." The silence that greeted him made Ichigo sweat. He punched Renji again, more forcefully this time. "Right?"

Renji narrowed eyes at the orange-haired shinigami next to him. "Touch me again and I'm gonna let Zabimaru loose on ya, fucktard."

"Like I'm afraid of monkey gas," scoffed Ichigo. He retrieved his limb back though. Just in case. "I don't even get why it's such a big deal. So what if some fancy bigwig proposed to Rukia? Like I said, s'not like she's gonna accept. She hates 'em. Said so herself."

"You really are an idiot, aren'tcha?" Renji grumbled. He made a motion to smack Ichigo's head but missed and almost toppled off his stool. Ichigo snagged the redhead's uniform and dragged him back into his proper place. "If them Kuchiki Elders want Rukia to accept, she hafta accept. Things work that way 'mong those noble farts, 'specially if it involves another noble house. You got that?"

The frogs and the urge to die slammed back at him full force. Ichigo staggered visibly under the combined force. "She doesn't even have a say on this?"

"So you've finally noticed, _genius_. Congrats."

Ichigo eyed the clutter of sake bottles in front of Renji (the vice-captain had arrived earlier than him) and swallowed, saliva trickling down his throat like rough sand.

He needed a drink. Or two. Or fifteen. Ichigo reached for a bottle and took a swig right out of it. The liquor burnt his throat and made it harder to breathe and think.

Shit.

2.

"What were you two _thinking_?" 

The voice screeched right into his head and bounced around like a big sledgehammer intent on murdering what little left of his brain. Hangover was the only thing that made heavy drinking nasty. Ichigo blinked blearily at the petite figure poised at the doorway of his living quarter and tried to stand up from this soft thing under his non cooperating limbs (the futon, his mind supplied). He succeeded after his third try. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

The figure, dressed in standard shinigami uniform, advanced forward in an alarming speed and stood in front of him, arms akimbo.

Ichigo's bloodshot eyes widened when he recognized said figure.

Rukia. Shit.

"Drinking like a pair of depressed idiots," the Kuchiki berated loudly, her huge violet eyes hardening as she gave him an once-over. Ichigo self-consciously crossed his arms against his chest. "And _fighting_ in public. You're a _captain_ now, for crying out loud! Act like one."

Ichigo scratched his un-itchy head and resisted the urge to grab Rukia's shoulder, shake her and tell her to shut the hell up. "It's Renji's fault too," he finally pointed out, after some of the haze had cleared out of his sad excuse of a brain. The accused redhead was nowhere within sight. "Where's he, by the way?"

"Outside. Puking his guts out."

"Oh."

They stared at each other in a stretch of unfamiliar, uncomfortable silence, and Ichigo was painfully reminded of what Renji had told him the night before when they went drinking in Rukongai. Heart, meet Death. Ichigo wondered if anyone could die (again) from heartache. He wondered if he would be the first.

Rukia was the one who broke the silence, as she turned to leave. "There're some pills for hangover on the table over there. I'll see you for lunch, I guess."

"Rukia… wait."

The female shinigami paused at the door, but kept her back at him. "Yes?"

"I…" there was a feeling, close to dying but not really, when he saw how tense and rigid her posture was. He didn't want to see her back; he wanted to see her face, just to make sure that he wasn't imagining last night. Ichigo swallowed the lump (proverbial frog?) in his throat and let his hands to fall at his sides. "Nothing. See you later."

With a nod, she was gone. Just like that.

"You're an idiot." Renji, limping inside right after Rukia's departure, was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looked positively green, though definitely not with envy.

Ichigo's shoulder slumped. "I know."

3.

There was some sort of a celebration going on everywhere that day, like someone had just announced that they would be getting an early bonus that month. Or like… someone important was going to get married. The merry chatters of gossiping shinigami echoed around the hallway, and there were eager faces swarming the ground when he made his way to the office. Ichigo winced inwardly; the alcohol was mostly still in his system despite those pills and the heaving that followed. And the ungodly amount of paperwork stacked on his desk like a sneering monster was not helping. It was times like these that he wished he hadn't accepted the captaincy shoved his way by that old bastard Yamamoto.

"Um… Captain Kurosaki?"

Ichigo groaned from his position draped over the table.

"Are you… okay?"

Ichigo groaned again.

Another pile of papers appeared at the line of his peripheral vision, as well as the concerned face of his vice-captain. "If you're not feeling well, sir, you can go lie down first. I'll finish these reports for you."

"I hate reports," mumbled the orange-haired shinigami morosely, supporting himself back into proper seating position. "Can't we just burn 'em or something, Kira?"

"General Yamamoto won't be pleased if you do that, sir," answered the mild-mannered blond, carefully rearranging the reports that were nearly swept off the table by Ichigo's agitated movement. "Is there something wrong, Captain Kurosaki?"

Ichigo frowned and pressed his lips into one thin line.

Kira offered him a small, nervous smile. "Ano… pardon me for saying this but you're almost late for your appointment with Vice-captain Kuchiki, sir. If you're not feeling well—"

Ichigo was up and gone before Kira could even finish the sentence.

4.

Rukia was already in the restaurant when Ichigo arrived, sitting at a table near the entrance, the one that they usually occupied whenever they had these sporadic lunch dates. There was a vase of pink carnations on the table, as well as several china miniatures of ugly ducks that Rukia claimed to be _adorable_. (The only time he contradicted her opinion, he ended up with a pair of chopsticks shoved into very, _very_ uncomfortable places of his anatomy). Everything looked normal and in place. Except that he got this feeling of impending doom that radiated from _somewhere_…

That was when he realized the presence of the Sixth Division's captain and Rukia's surrogate brother, Kuchiki Byakuya.

Ichigo stopped dead on his track and stared.

"You're late," informed the head of the Kuchiki family, cold, cold eyes burning holes into Ichigo.

The orange-haired shinigami bristled. Damned bastard. "And you're uninvited."

"Ichigo!" Rukia's admonishing tone made him wince, as she inclined her head in a gesture of an apology at Byakuya. "Forgive me, nii-sama. I forgot to inform him that you'll be joining us for lunch."

"Hn."

Only Kuchiki Byakuya was able to effortlessly say 'Hn' and made it sound as though it was the most degrading insult ever known to mankind.

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched.

"Take a seat, _Captain Kurosaki_," Rukia said, narrowing her eyes threateningly at him. Her posture was picture perfect. Her back was straight and her hands were folded on her lap, just like what was expected for a little lady from a noble house to behave. It's hard to believe that she's the same woman who periodically barrage into his office and smacked him upside down just for the heck of it. "We're about to order already."

Ichigo hated it whenever she acted like that. He gruffly stalked to the table and pulled out a chair as far as possible from both Kuchiki. But considering that the table was not that large, the effect was quite impaired. "I don't feel like eating anymore."

"You're free to take your leave then." Byakuya murmured, and Ichigo was reminded all over again as to why he hated the older Kuchiki. He was about to retort with something possibly nasty, but a warning look from Rukia made him clam up before he even got the chance to say anything.

Ichigo crossed his arms and glowered at the menu before him.

He wished that he _did_ die last night.

At least he could haunt the big prissy Kuchiki and give him one hell of a time.

The silence that accompanied their lunch was a tense one, and Ichigo spent the first five minutes mulling over the possibility of kidnapping Rukia in front of Byakuya and disappearing before the older Kuchiki could Senbon Zakura him to death, or at least a painful semblance of it. The next hour (as Byakuya related boring details about some weird aristocratic ceremonials and Rukia listened attentively for Lord-knows-what reason) witnessed Ichigo attempting to perfect the theory of quantum physics and re-calculating the exact amount of seconds he could endure in Byakuya's presence before he develop something closely related to insanity. He almost succeeded in both if it wasn't for Rukia's words.

"—then I'll leave both of you now." The female Kuchiki daintily stood up and bowed at Byakuya, before turning her attention to Ichigo. There was… _uncertainty_... in her eyes, rising and ebbing just around the deep rings of violet of her irises, giving her eyes a darker shade than what was usual. "Ichigo." She paused and seemed to consider something, though _what_ he didn't know. He just sat there, transfixed by the soft curves of her face and the full lips quivering slightly in contemplation. Rukia finally exhaled and shook her head. "Just… know that I'll accept your decision, whatever it will be."

Wha-?

"I'll see you later." Apparently, Rukia missed the confused look on Ichigo's face as she exited the restaurant, leaving behind two men that hated each other's guts and had tried to kill one another on more than one occasion.

Ichigo wondered if she had done that on purpose.

Byakuya maintained his perfected art of emotionless bastardliness as he poured himself a cup of tea, allowing the sweet fragrance of the traditional drink to swirl like invisible mist around them. He took a sip, and another one, before placing the cup down and regarded Ichigo with an unamused stare. It was so unamused that it looked accusatory. "You weren't listening, were you?"

"Haven't noticed anything worth listening to," the orange-haired captain retorted, crossing his arms and glaring bloody murder at Byakuya.

The (much) older man sighed, in that special way that forewarned Ichigo of derogatory remarks to come. "This is an absolute waste of time. I cannot fathom the reason as to why Rukia requested me to talk to you, not when you're uninterested."

Ichigo jerked forward, adrenaline rushing inside his veins like he was about to participate in a life-and-death duel. Knowing Byakuya (though he'd rather not, truth be told), they might end up exchanging more than verbal blows. He'd angle for that. At least he could work out his frustration. "What the hell are you talking about, bastard?"

Byakuya allowed the insult to slip with a delicate sniff. "If only you have listened, then there's no need for that question."

Ichigo slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the miniature ducks and vase of carnations. He was pissed off, somehow confident that there was something going on that concerned him one way or another. And Renji's voice from the day before still echoed loudly inside his head, stretching the limits of his patience. "I'm askin' you _now_."

"I suppose you will resort to violence if I refuse?"

So close, he was so close to just say 'screw it' and draw Zangetsu then and there…

"Rukia is scheduled to be betrothed to an heir to the Karasuma Family," Byakuya's calm voice filtered through the haze of red inside his head and Ichigo faltered, eyes widening. "I assume you've heard of the news."

The feeling was there again, that urge to dig a hole and bury himself and never see a single daylight ever again. That inability to breathe properly. And Byakuya was watching him underneath long, girly lashes, watching and scrutinising and calculating. Ichigo felt cold beads of perspiration starting to gather on his forehead, his throat constricting painfully. "I…"

"The young master personally requested for her hand," the narration continued, each word a sharp stab into Ichigo's rapidly beating heart. He wondered if Byakuya found him to be pathetic. Helpless. If it was _funny_ to the other captain. "An envoy will be arriving in a week's time."

"Rukia, she—" what could he say? Ichigo gritted his teeth, pain flashing at the back of mind that had nothing to do with the lazy trail of blood smeared over his tightly-fisted hand. "She can't…"

"And why can't she?"

Calm, patient, expecting – so like Byakuya that it wasn't funny. It was making Ichigo's head spin with half-formed proclamations of desires and wants and needs. He forced his lips to press together, a thin line to prevent his innermost secrets from spilling unchecked. His eyebrows knitted into a frown, contemplating over that one question, seeking for an acceptable answer.

_Why indeed._

"Because she's _mine_."

Byakuya's eyes widened ever so slightly across the table and Ichigo had to resist the urge to commit ritual suicide.

Shit. He'd said that out aloud. Shit.

Why didn't he get a memo informing him that his mouth had decided to disconnect itself from his brain?

Ichigo could feel his face heating up in record time and he hastily shook his head at slow curl of lips on Byakuya's face. "I didn't! I mean – she's always with me and well—"

"I've heard enough, Kurosaki." A hand was raised to stop him mid-tirade and Ichigo was frozen in his attempt to salvage whatever left of his sanity. Byakuya merely finished his tea, cold eyes gleaming with something foreign. Something that sent foreboding shivers racing down Ichigo's spine and made him want to run to the opposite way as fast as possible. The cup returned to its saucer, and Byakuya regarded the orange-haired captain solemnly. "Just tell me something."

Ichigo nodded numbly, too worked up to say anything.

"Those words that you've spoken… have you the strength to make them true?"

The gravity of the situation, that single question…

Rukia belonged to him. Only him and no one else.

Ichigo straightened and stared at Byakuya, matching the piercing inquisitive eyes with determination. No more hesitation and he could hear the ghost of a whisper from Zangetsu. The zanpakutou's approval and support. "Yes."

Another stretch of silence, and Byakuya's faint smile made Ichigo tense up, muscles coiled so tightly it's a wonder if he could move after this. The Kuchiki stood up and nodded, scarf a loose nestle around the slender neck. "It's settled then. Good day, Kurosaki."

What the—?!

"Wait!" Ichigo all but jumped out of his chair, curiosity and hesitation battling for dominance in his voice. "What about the… the marriage proposal?"

"Rukia had declined earlier."

"… WHAT?!"

Long fingers grasped the hilt of Senbon Zakura and Ichigo had the impression that Byakuya was sharing quiet laughter with his zanpakutou. "I am not the one to answer these questions of yours." He turned to a booth half-hidden at the back of the restaurant. "Rukia, I've fulfilled your request. I expect to see you back for dinner, as there are several matters that need to be discussed over." Byakuya glanced over his shoulder to where Ichigo was standing stock still, and inclined his head slightly. "Good day, Kurosaki."

Ichigo blinked, disbelief etched on his face as Byakuya disappeared and Rukia slipped out of the booth, her own face tinted red and violet eyes looking at anything and everything but him.

Pretty, petite Rukia, with her infamous obstinacy and characteristic violence and unyielding faith in him.

Ichigo took a step forward, one hand reaching out for that elusive feeling that hung like mist between them. And Rukia finally looked up, relief and gratefulness and conviction in her eyes a liquid heat that burnt him inside out.

This felt like dying too.

But Ichigo never thought that dying could be something other than painful.

**END**

If you're read this, not too much of a trouble to ask for a review, right? Right.


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